Darkness

My father was not a patient man. Perhaps that is why I have a vivid memory of his gentle words on exceptionally scary nights. When I was a child the dark of night frightened me, and I would cry when it was time to turn out the light at bedtime. On several occasions when the dark overpowered me, my dad would carry me outside and sit with me on the picnic table in the backyard. The picnic table became our secret place to find some light in the frightful night.  Away from the house lights we could see the bright stars and the radiant glow of the moon.  In the shadows my father assured me there was nothing to fear; darkness was beautiful. He pointed to the heavenly lights and reminded me that God is with us in darkness and in light. He gave me hope that morning would come soon if I would rest in the promise of a new day. I would lean into him sleepy and secure, and he would hug me close. Those night time lessons have remained with me through the years: first, the tender words of a father reassuring his child that he is present, second, the witness of heavenly beauty one can only appreciate at night, and third, the reminder that darkness is part of the cycle of life and morning will come.

Many decades later, the dark overpowered me again when I experienced the unimaginable death of my son at Christmas. How does one find solace in deep, dark sadness and loss of a precious loved one? Like a child, I have been frightened out of my wits, I have cried until tears are dried up, and I have slept fitfully or not at all.  I miss my son and my comfortable, uncomplicated life with my big family, whole and complete.

Since our move to the country, we are more aware of the full moon and the new moon, the waxing and waning, and celestial lights are brighter in the darkness away from city. When the moon is full, bright shadows are cast on the lawn as though the sun is confused and rose in the middle of the night. I witness the heavenly beauty of light in darkness like a child. The lessons learned in the dead of night, sitting on a picnic table held in the arms of my earthly father have comforted me again.

Today I wait in the darkness of Advent for my Lord to shine His Light. As I wait, I read the tender words of my heavenly Father in Isaiah 45:3, “I will give you the treasures of darkness, and hidden wealth of secret places, in order that you may know that it is I, the LORD, who calls you by your name.”

I am leaning into the loving arms of God, who speaks softly and calls my name. I wait for the new day, walking by faith not by sight. Come Lord Jesus, come.

“I loved him from his first breath, I will grieve him until my last.”

(Nicole Hockley in memory of her son Dylan)